Cracks in the Wall
by GorimJr
Summary: King Duncan is assassinated, and after Queen Cassandra is accused and the skeptical Rangers are forcibly dissolved, Halt, Crowley, Will, and the other Rangers must work in secret to gather allies and bring down the usurper. Used to be Crashing Down
1. Chapter 1

**"Crashing Down" has been revamped, and is ready to be rewritten and reimagined. Some names will change, some characters will be given new roles, and, hopefully, my awful procrastination skillz will release their hold on me, because this is getting ridiculous.**

It was a pleasant Sunday morning, and the streets were crowded with churchgoers, young and old, male and female, rich and poor. The capital of Araluen was a fairly pious city, and the young assassin had no difficulty moving through the crowd, his hood pulled up to hide his foreign features and olive complexion. The Araluen populace was generally pale, or at least paler than his fellows in Tuscano. He had to be careful, or he'd be recognized as a foreigner hailing from a country renowned for its assassins, and while that wasn't cause enough for the watchful city guard to grab him and drag him to the gallows, it was enough for them to keep a closer eye on him.

The people paid him no attention, however, and he made his way to the church with little trouble.

The assassin had planned his approach to the situation carefully. Sunday Mass was both crowded enough for him to slip in, and public enough that his target was easily accessible. The church doors were open for an hour or more before Mass itself, but no one entered before the king and his daughter, and the main room of the church as large enough for one to enter without the priests noticing, as they were always on the far side of the church, readying the altar for the ceremony. Immediately to the left and right of the doors were ladders to the upper windows and the top half of the first stained glass mosaic. The windows there were easily opened, large enough for a clean shot, and offered an unrestricted view of the courtyard below and all its entrances.

The church itself was really quite lovely. Not as lovely as Tuscano's own _Cupola del Signora_, but the Araluen center of the Church was grand in its own way. While the Tuscanos favored domes and brightly colored mosaics on the walls, the Araluen's had their own charming spires and gardens, along with two stunning stained glass mosaics, one above the entrance and another above the altar. The square before the great double doors was simply cobbled, but the fountain bubbled cheerfully, its water catching the bright sunlight, young but strong trees lining and framing the square itself. Guards stood at various, strategic places, but there were far too many people in that space for them to notice one man, particularly when he was hidden in plain sight.

The assassin slipped easily through the crowd and, using the people of Castle Araluen as cover, went into the church.

The main room was cavernous, the beautiful stained glass windows on the wall facing the square casted multi-colored shadows on the stone floor and across the pews. Ladders leading up to higher lofts were on either wall, and the assassin climbed the nearest quickly. The priests readying on the far end of the room didn't notice the assassin as he settled himself in a small alcove by a window, and took out his weapon of the choice.

The crossbow was stout, well-oiled, and readied in less than a moment. The bolt that the assassin place in it was spiked with a deadly poison that would pass quickly through the victims body and, if it the bolt hit a decent vein or artery, would leave him or her dead before the body hit the ground. It was the assassin's personal belief that there was no particular reason to draw out the death, or leave the victim in great suffering, as some of his brethren reveled in.

Glancing at the statue of the serene woman that stood in a place of honor, the assassin quietly murmured a prayer for forgiveness. He wondered vaguely how many times you were allowed to ask forgiveness for the same sin, but was jolted out of his reverie by the roar of the crowd, and looked down to see a regal pair walk into the square, flanked and followed by many armored, armed guards. The princess, he realized, was lovely, her hair a coppery blonde and tied back in a simple, yet elegant bun, her skin tanned and healthy, her face lovely in strong, wholesome way, her dress long and richly colored in purple and wine-red. It was a pleasant change from the paper-thin, almost unhealthy prostitutes that adorned the streets of his city like fake jewels.

The man whose arm she graced with her presence was clearly her father, the king. A tall, muscular man with the same coppery blond color to his hair and beard, only they were streaked with gray. However, this didn't make him seem weak or feeble; on the contrary, it suffused his already regal bearing with a sense of wisdom and experience. Like his daughter, his clothing was rich, but simple. The only gaudy thing was his crown, gold and bejeweled, but crowns were supposed to be gaudy.

The assassin felt a small pang of guilt. The king was clearly beloved by his people, and he and his daughter seemed so happy. His country had no real, centralized form of government, but if it had, he would have wanted a king like this. Even in him, a foreigner, both the king and his daughter instilled a feeling of respect, even loyalty.

But he was running out of time, and he'd wasted precious moments on his thoughts. He took out the crossbow and aimed carefully for the center of the king's chest, hoping for a wound that would leave the man dead in an instant. It was marks like this that made him glad he had no stomach for unneeded suffering.

The princess glanced at one of the guards, a tall, handsome man with a sword, and smiled brilliantly. Stepping away from her father for a moment, she took the guard's arm in her own, and the two shared a smile. Taking the chance, the assassin pulled the trigger.

True to his intent, the king was dead before he hit the ground.

The there was a stunned moment of silence as the cheering of the crowd died instantly. There were no screams, just the sound of the breeze shifting through the leaves of the trees and the fountain gurgling.

Then, pandemonium.

The princess shrieked and flung herself onto her father as the citizens scattered. The guard that the princess had shared a moment with immediately looked up at the church, and as his eyes locked with the assassin's, the Genovesan felt a flicker of respect for the young man as he jerked back and jumped down the ladder and realized he was doomed. His plan of escape had planned on the guards being as confused as the populace. The young, intelligent guard had clipped that plan neatly.

The guard and his compatriots were in the church in a moment, and their painfully mailed hands gripped him tightly as they dragged him away, past the sobbing princess. Her guard broke off and went to her as the others propelled him through the empty streets, towards Castle Araluen and her dungeons.

Behind him, he heard a priest, his voice clear and carrying, yet breaking with sorrow, cry, "The king is dead! Long live the Queen!"

()()()

The Glade was alive with talk. The tests were over, and the next day, the Rangers and their apprentices would return to their respective fiefs. Two Rangers in particular, Will Treaty and his friend and former master, Halt, looked forward to returning to Redmont and their wives, the ladies Alyss and Pauline, respectively. The two of them sat at a small campfire, along with Gilan, Gilan's apprentice Lily, and Will's own apprentice, Morgon.

Lily's elegant, tapered fingers plucked at Will's mandola. The older Ranger had, with absolutely no sarcasm, told Gilan that his friend's apprentice would go very far in the Corps, mainly because the young lady was one of the first people Will had ever meet who had immediately recognized the instrument as a mandola. The apprentice, who was one of the first women to even be considered for admission into the Ranger Corps, was in her late teens, a lovely girl with light blue eyes, light blonde hair, and features too strong to be considered beautiful, but too elegant to be plain. Her smile was brilliant, her disposition sunny, and Will enjoyed her company immensely. From the looks she and Gilan had shared when he asked how she was recruited, Will suspected the story was a sad one. He didn't pry.

His own apprentice had caught his eye when Will caught the boy's hand in his pocket. Morgon had led Will on a merry chase through the streets, alleys and even country trails of Redmont Fief. What started as a desperate chase had quickly become an immensely entertaining battle of wits. While Will had ultimately caught up with Morgon, he was impressed enough to hold off on dragging him off to prison and asked the young man why he was thieving.

Morgon explained that his father had died when he was a boy, and while he was the only child, the fact that he was ill-suited to any mainstream occupations made him, in his mind, a burden on his mother, who worked in the castle as a maid. While Will was initially skeptical, Morgon quickly introduced the Ranger to his mother, who was thoroughly startled at being introduced to a hero of the realm while she was washing laundry with an ash smudge on her nose, and both of them were startled out of their wits when Will offered to take Morgon in as his apprentice. Needless to say, they both had been overjoyed at the opportunity that had arisen for the boy, and it took no amount of persuasion to get Morgon to accept the offer, and for the mother to give her blessing.

That had been two years ago. Morgon was an excellent apprentice, if occasionally a bit unfocused. Though Morgon was often in his own world, once Will got his attention, it took one, maybe two explanations for the young man to understand it. Will was thoroughly pleased, but often baffled by his apprentice. The young man had an insatiable curiosity that often led to him being gone for hours at a time, but always come back with pleased expression on his face. Common reasons for these outings were "I was watching the birds" or "I was looking at plants". Since his chores were always done, Will never did anything to stop his walks. But they left him very curious himself.

Morgon had been taller than Will when they'd first met, and he'd grown even taller over the course of his two years as Will's apprentice. The Rangers had a serious suspicion that the man came from knight stock, as the young man had finally topped off at over six feet. While he displayed remarkable grace, and a talent for silent movement, it had taken the majority of his apprenticeship to master his gangly limbs. Will had found the whole, rather painful trial immensely amusing. However, Morgon's height, in combination with the toned physique that came with the Ranger training and his simple, handsome features, made the girls of Redmont swoon and sigh like any Battleschool apprentice. While the rarity of a Ranger heartthrob was interesting, the intense shyness and embarrassment on Morgon's part was even more amusing for Will that his apprentice's past clumsiness.

The faint sound of a cheer echoed faintly to Will, and he grinned, imagining Crowley's last formal apprentice, the first woman to be initiated into the Corps, be welcomed into the tight-knit group. He was a bit disappointed that he was unable to be there, but there'd be time enough for congratulations. After all, she was now part of the family.

"Will, what if I die tomorrow?" The Ranger was jolted out of his reverie by his apprentice, who, along with the rest of his companions, was looking at him closely.

"Sorry?" Will asked, and Morgon sighed.

"I was just wondering how you'd feel if I died tomorrow. Struck by lightning, gored by a pig, mauled by a raccoon… Without knowing what goes on in that glade." Will laughed. Morgon had been desperately trying to weasel out the secret of the initiation ceremony for nearly a year, with no luck. Everyone found it very amusing.

"You'll be added to a long, proud list of apprentices who Died Without Knowing, Morgon," Will said sadly. "It's unfortunate, but just the way it is."

Dropping all pretense, Morgon asked, "Does it have hallucinogens?"

"No."

"Dire chinchillas?"

"No…"

"Shooting matches to the death with your master?" At this, both Gilan and Will looked from Morgon to Halt, who was quietly amused, and back.

"You realize Halt's right there, right?" Gilan asked slowly. Morgon frowned.

"Add 'Black magic resurrection ritual" to that scenario," he said. Will raised an eyebrow.

"No. Definitely not."

"Fine. Then the only conclusion left is that it is a ritual in which we sell our souls to the Devil for our archery abilities." Morgon stated firmly. Lily snorted, a distinctly unfeminine sound.

"Yes, Morgon," she said dryly. "They're making us practice day and night for the final exam, all so that we can sell our souls anyway." Gilan and Will both collapsed with laughter as Morgon sniffed.

"Be quiet, Halfling. At least I'm trying to figure it out," he said peevishly. Will grinned.

"You know how you can find out what goes on in that ceremony?" He asked his apprentice slyly. Morgon groaned. "Passing your final exam. And you know how you pass your final exam?"

"Practice." A small, rather pixie-like woman sat down gracefully beside them, Crowley coming up from behind.

"Hello, Gwen," Halt said. "Congratulations."

"Thank you, Halt," the dark haired Ranger replied with a grin. "It's quite an honor." She looked at Morgon seriously. "But really. Practice is important. Especially if you're a certain apprentice who couldn't throw a knife to stun a man to save his life…" she trailed off pointedly. Morgon glared at her.

"I hate you." He stood, clearly nursing injured dignity. "I'm going to go practice."

"Good." Will said fervently. "I want to see movement! Don't just stand in one place!"

"Crowley, Will probably wants to hurry and finish this meeting up!" Morgon called. "You know, so he can get back to his pregnant wife, and the hobbit she's carrying!" The girls and Gilan cracked up as Morgon ran over to the edge of the glade to practice throwing knives by the horses.

"He thinks he's clever," Will said dryly as he stood. "We'll see how clever he is as he cleans the Old Bob's stables for the next two months." The three Rangers stood, and with last, sincere congratulations to Gwen, headed off towards the large pavilion in the center of the glade.

"So," Lily said in a hushed tone. "What was the initiation like?"

"I've made a solemn oath to say nothing to any apprentice," Gwen replied, her tone equally quiet. Lily nodded.

"There's human sacrifice, isn't there?" The younger woman asked sadly. Gwen made a sound of disappointment and nodded. The two grinned abruptly and chuckled as the sound of a knife hitting a tree began to ring through the glade.

Morgon rolled this way and that, his knives burying themselves, sometimes in trees, other times in the ground meters away from his intended target. The young man groaned in irritation, but stopped as the Ranger horses stamped their feet and snorted, and the sound of hooves approached. Morgon whirled around, his single knife at the ready, his saxe too far to retrieve.

A messenger on a small, obviously exhausted horse came to an abrupt stop. The man gasped for breath, sounding as if he was the one who'd run all the way to the glade. He looked at Morgon closely.

"Are you a Ranger?" He asked. Morgon nodded, confused. The messenger gave the young apprentice an official communication, sealed with the official wax stamp of the royal house. "Take this to Crowley. Or Will Treaty. Or Halt. It doesn't matter." With no further explanation, he whirled his horse around and galloped off into the night.

Morgon looked at the envelope in his hands, and his incurable curiosity urged him to open it and read it, while his Dutiful Apprentice/Ranger side urged him to take it to the pavilion.

Ultimately, curiosity won out. His fingers broke the seal without a second thought, and his eyes skimmed the short, abrupt letter in an instant.

One simple, four letter word made his heart stutter dangerously in his chest. Swallowing hard, he turned and ran to the pavilion, past his confused friends and several startled Rangers. He barreled into the meeting, causing the older Rangers to look up in shock.

"Morgon!" Will gasped, too stunned to be angry. "What on earth-?"

The apprentice held the envelope and letter up in one hand, his entire body feeling as if its lifeblood had been replaced with ice water.

"The king is dead."


	2. Chapter 2

**Considerably shorter than the previous chapter, but I really just changed the bad guy and polished up some of the other stuff. Happy reading!**

"How could this happen?" Halt snarled, staring at the missive and reading it over and over. "How could something like this get past us?" Crowley didn't answer. The Commandant only continued to pace the Pavilion, pale and silent.

When Morgon brought in the message, several of the Rangers were overcome with emotion at the news. Gilan and Will both left almost immediately after Halt verified what the boy had said, and most of the other Rangers left shortly afterward, the distinctive sound of sobbing coming from several of the men. Soon, all that was left was Halt, Crowley, and two other senior Rangers.

"Perhaps it was in code," one of the Rangers suggested distractedly, his eyes still going over the missive as if he was looking for the place where it mentioned this was all a sick joke. "Disguised as a normal letter between friends."

"It must have been a good code," the other Ranger sighed. "If we didn't catch it."

"Go back over the letters, chiefly the ones from nobles to other nobles, and nobles to foreign nations," Halt ordered when it was clear Crowley wasn't going to reply. "If you see Tuscano in anything, even a mention, save it for further review. The assassin was a Genovesan." The two Rangers nodded and hurried out, leaving the two old friends alone.

Crowley continued to pace, gnawing on his thumbnail.

"What are you thinking, Crowley?" Halt asked quietly. Crowley stopped and threw his hands up.

"There's nothing, Halt!" He cried. "I honestly can't think of a single person who would want to kill the king! His policies haven't angered anyone. He's popular with the people. There's no country on the international stage that would want him gone except the Temujai, and this isn't their style! If they wanted him dead they'd attack; they wouldn't hire a foreign assassin to do the deed." He held his head in his hands, and Halt said nothing.

"We failed," Crowley whispered. "We were supposed to catch this. Things like this." Halt swallowed.

"It's too late now, Crowley," he said quietly. "All we can do is make sure this doesn't happen again, and make sure our new queen stays safe." Crowley, his head still in his hands, breathed and nodded slowly.

"You're right," he said quietly. "Of course. We should-" He stopped and cleared his throat. "We should tell the others."

"You think they don't know?" Halt asked. Crowley sighed and looked at his friend.

"I don't know. But we should still tell the camp." Halt nodded, and they walked out of the Pavilion.

Halt's eyes instinctively sought out his friends. Gilan was sitting on a log by his and Will's fire, his head in his hands and his shoulders trembling so violently that it was visible from Halt's position. Near him was Lily, on her knees, hands clasped in prayer. Gwen sat at the same campfire, hugging herself, her shoulders hunched. Morgon stood at the edge of the clearing, practicing his knife throwing with more passion than Halt had seen in him for a while. Will sat on the grass, between his apprentice and the Ranger horses, leaning on his clasped hands and his thoughts obviously far away.

And all around the clearing, the air was full of sorrow and frustration and helplessness. Conversations were spoken in low voices, activities ceased. Most people were huddled together, whispering amongst each other.

The whole camp already knew. Halt sighed and glanced at Crowley, who cleared his throat. The low murmur of conversation stopped instantly, and everyone looked up, save Lily, Will and Morgon.

"There is no easy way to say this," Crowley said, his voice full of emotion. "About ten minutes ago, we received word from Castle Araluen." Morgon stopped throwing his knives, but didn't look around. Will's head turned slightly towards Halt and Crowley, but Lily continued to pray silently. The silence was like glass; tense and ludicrously fragile. "Just before Mass Sunday morning, a Genovesan assassin, hidden in the church, assassinated King Duncan. The king was shot with a crossbow blot, and by all accounts died instantly." The silence shattered. Several Rangers cried out in horror; Morgon threw a knife so viciously into the tree that one would think it had done him a personal wrong. Nearby, the Ranger horses shook and murmured, set off by the emotion.

"This Gathering is over," Crowley continued. "We all must go to Castle Araluen, to attend the king's funeral precession, and Princess Cassandra's coronation." He swallowed, and said, rather shortly, "There's no time to waste. Get moving now."

()()()

In Castle Araluen, Cassandra sat in her bedroom, at her desk, writing out official messages to the various rulers of Hibernia, the ruler of Celtica, the Arridi, and of Gallica. Her quill whipped across the pages in easy, flowing rivers of words and ink. She was getting irritated; she'd already wasted several pieces of paper on this, and a gallon of ink. For the first several tries, she broke down when she began to write "dead". Her tears fell on the pages and blurred her words, and each time it happened, she cursed angrily and screwed the letter into a ball. Her room was littered with them.

She couldn't get the image out of her head. One moment her father was laughing as she and her future husband had made to walk into church together, and the next he was on the ground, blood-

She held her head in her hands and bit back a strangled sob.

The assassin had been a Genovesan. The assassin, she'd seen, had been little more than a boy. Yet he'd known everything. Where the best vantage point was for the church courtyard, when Castle Araluen's Mass started, when she and her father entered the courtyard. How long had he been in their streets? Had he stayed at one of their inns? Ate their food? Drank their wine?

For some reason, the idea was sickening.

She wiped her eyes quickly, angrily. The Castle guard would work with the Rangers to find the ultimate employer; whoever did this would pay. She was entirely confident of that. With that thought, not a necessarily happy thought, but one that calmed her and gave her strength, her tears ebbed and her hand grew steadier.

She was writing her letter to King Sean Carrick, Halt's nephew, when she heard a knock at the door, and Horace opened it.

"Cass- Your Highness," he glanced significantly behind him, and Cassandra stood, recognizing that this was a guest of import. "The Baroness is here to see you.

"Allow her in, Sir Horace," she said. Horace nodded and closed the door. Moments later, Baroness Helena walked in, curtsying at the threshold. She was the captain of the guard, though still dressed for church in an elegant gown of red velvet and lace. Her physical appearance didn't put forth the idea of law enforcement. Helena was tall, willowy and graceful, her skin like alabaster, her hair long and such a pale shade of blonde that it was almost white. In her youth, Cassandra had been alternately jealous and terrified of the older woman's beauty, which had almost had a snake-like quality to it.

Despite her gender and appearance, the Baroness had preformed her hereditary duty as captain of the guard with excellence. While her daughter, Lady Sheridan, formally led the guard, she funded the affair, and held the title of Captain of the Guard, while Sheridan held the title of Lieutenant. It was a state of affairs that had always confused Cassandra, and she had privately considered naming Sheridan Captain.

"Your Highness," the Baroness said quietly, breaking Cassandra's reverie. "I felt as though I should come to give my condolences for your loss." Cassandra bowed her head in recognition. "I also wish to make it clear that my daughter and I will do anything and everything we can to make sure the man who hired that assassin faces the justice given to traitors to the crown." Cassandra nodded again.

"Thank you, Baroness. I can only pray he comes to justice." The Baroness nodded.

"If I may, I would ask you some questions, Your Highness." Cassandra nodded quickly.

"Of course, anything." Vaughan nodded and sat down after Cassandra did.

"Your Highness, are there any enemies that your father had that you can think of?" She asked. Cassandra thought about it.

"None that I can think of," she said. "He was... a good king."

"Quite,"the Baroness said, a bit impatiently. "Now, what did you see before the attack? Anything out of the ordinary? Did you hear anything?"

"Anything out of the ordinary..." Cassandra murmured. "Nothing I can recall. You may ask the guards that were there? I was focusing on the people at the time." The Baroness smirked.

"The people… And your dashing bodyguard?" She asked slyly. Cassandra flushed. "I see. Well, I have the assassin in the dungeon right now. We'll get the name of his employer, one way or another." Cassandra swallowed hard, but nodded.

"Very well, Baroness Helena," she said. "Are we done?"

"For now, Your Highness," she replied, standing as well. "I assure you, we will get the truth out of this man. And no matter who it is, he or... _she_ will face justice." Something in her eyes, the way he spoke, made Cassandra look up sharply, a needle of ice entering her heart. By all appearances, she was polite and reassuring, smiling slightly at her and curtsying.

But, for a moment, it had seemed as if she was accusing her... Or perhaps something else, something far more sinister. Cassandra shook her head.

"Thank you, Baroness. You may go." She backed out of the room, leaving Cassandra with a feeling of foreboding, and a pile of letters to finish.


	3. Chapter 3

**If I missed any changes (forgot to change Vaughn to Helena or something) tell me. **

Castle Araluen was silent. It made Will think of the raided towns he, Gilan and Horace had passed through in Celtica over a decade ago. Shops were closed, no children played in the streets, not even dogs made noise. The entire city was gripped in respectful, silent mourning.

The hoof beats of the Ranger horses echoed softly on the cobblestone streets just as the church bells rang out the time of three o'clock. Will rode next to Gilan and Morgon, just behind Crowley and Halt, and in front of Lily and the other Rangers. Castle Araluen loomed over them, beautiful as ever, and yet now somewhat ominous and painful. King Duncan's banners still fluttered in the breeze on the battlements and in the courtyard of the castle, remaining there out of respect for the fallen king.

Princess Cassandra, Sir Horace, Baroness Helena, and several other faceless knights were waiting outside the castle doors to receive the whole of the Ranger Corps. Will looked at them as a Ranger rather than a friend, purely out of habit. He was a bit sheepish when he realized it, but it helped him recognize the levels of pain they were in.

Cassandra was clearly heartbroken, but like any true leader, she was standing tall and proud, her hair done, her makeup tasteful, and her clothing simple and refined. Her smile was clearly strained as the Rangers dismounted, and as much as Will wanted to ignore it, there was no denying the fact that her eyes were red and puffy. She'd been crying long, and recently.

Horace stood next to her, just close enough for it to go beyond the boundaries of prerequisite formality and protection. His hair was cut shorter than Will remembered, and his old friend had finally managed to acquire something resembling a beard. It was rather jarring, as it made Horace seem less like the humble, affable young knight Will remembered, and more like the battle-hardened soldier he really was. He smile he offered Will was a bit sickly, but better than Cassandra's. At the very least, it didn't make Will want to throw up with guilt.

The Baroness had never struck Will as a particularly trustworthy individual. Even now, Will had the distinct impression that the air of sadness and solemnity the older woman was putting forward was a farce. It was unkind of Will to think so, but Halt had taught him to trust his instincts, and as the noblewoman walked forward to shake hands with Crowley, Will's instincts shrieked in protest. Curious as Will was to see if that was a general opinion, he decided it wouldn't be very politic to yell out unfounded suspicions at a time like this, and resolved to voice them later. Or not at all.

Unlike the majority of Araluen's nobility, Baroness Helena's family did not gain their title and prestige based on merit. They received it as a sort of apology from the royal family several decades after the War of the Eagles, a bloody and brutal civil war between Helena's family, who had been royalty, and Duncan and Cassandra's family, who were related to them by marriage. The depravities of the former royal family had been enough to make Will want to vomit, and enough to bring most of Araluen behind Duncan's ancestor in a revolution that had ended with the child-queen's beheading. Or so they thought.

The queen's twin brother had been dressed as the queen by their desperate relatives, and beheaded in her stead. The girl had gone on to live in a small village, marry, have children, and die the slightly wistful wife of a farmer. Decades later, her grandchildren presented the king with proof of their lineage, and the man, being a generally charitable soul and not believing in punishing the child for the crimes of the father (so to speak) gave the family a title and land. Over the years, the family grew in affluence and prestige, until they were the hereditary leaders of Castle Araluen's police force. Though the Baroness was rarely in a position to work with the Rangers, in this case she most certainly would. Rather, her daughter would, who was, by all accounts, a beloved and trusted member of the city guard. Still, Will remained ready for the customary "us and them" view that was so prevalent in the relationships between locals and Rangers.

"Commandant Crowley," the Baroness said, sounding like she was trying to sound impressive. "I'm sure that, together, we'll find the bastard who did this." Again, Will felt like the expression of outrage fell flat, but if anyone agreed, there was no indication.

"We should talk about that in a more private setting," Crowley said firmly. Helena nodded, still shaking the man's hand briskly. Cassandra walked up to Halt and Will.

"How are you holding up, Cassie?" Will asked quietly. It probably wasn't good manners to call the future queen a fond and friendly nickname, but Will couldn't bear to simply call her "Your Highness" at a time like that. She gave him that same sickly, nausea-inducing smile.

"As good as one can, Will," she replied. "I'm glad you all could come. I'm glad you'll…" She swallowed hard, and Halt reached out and took her hand gently.

"Don't worry," he said. "Whoever did this won't get away. We won't fail you twice." The Rangers and Knights all flinched, and the princess looked stunned.

"Oh, no, Halt. You didn't… It wasn't…" But she saw the guilt and bitterness in every face and stance among the Rangers, and knew nothing she said would do anything other than make things worse. She'd seen the same guilt in the eyes of Horace and his men; she knew their train of thought. They were there, if they'd been faster, if they'd seen…

There was no getting around it. It was a massive failure as far as internal safety and intelligence. As much as Cassandra would like to, there were no excuses. Rangers and Knights were supposed to be the best of the best in their respective fields. They'd failed to do their jobs properly, and they all felt that keenly. Even the Battleschool students and Ranger apprentices, who were in no position to find the plot or stop it, felt responsible. Every night, Will watched sadly as his apprentice practiced feverishly, and had to literally drag him over to the campfire and force him to eat and sleep. God damn him for wishing that something would happen that would make his apprentice care about training more. It piled a whole new, less reasonable slop of guilt on him, as if idle wishes had brought about the assassination of his country's beloved monarch.

"Thank you." Cassandra said lamely. "I hope the investigation is fruitful. The funeral procession is scheduled for two weeks from now. I expect you'll all be a part of it?" The group of Rangers and Apprentices all nodded in unison, and she smiled. "Thank you," she repeated, though this time far more fervently. "Now. If you'll all excuse me, I have a great many letters to write."

Will, acting on impulse, reached out and hugged her tight. Again, not in the least bit professional, but he pushed away the business part of their relationship and gave into the simple friendship they'd acquired over the years. Clearly she did the same, as she hugged him back, and just as tightly.

"Thank you," she whispered in his ear, too low for anyone else to hear. She drew back and wiped at her eyes. She turned and hugged Halt and Crowley both, then hurried off, Horace and her Knights close behind her.

()()()

The funeral procession made a slow, torturous circuit through the whole of Araluen's capital the next day. Princess Cassandra led the official parade, followed by her father's casket, the Knights Araluen, the Rangers, the Diplomats, and finally the majority of the populace.

The casket was placed in the ornate Royal Mausoleum, the final resting place for the royal family of Duncan and Cassandra since their ascension onto the throne. King Duncan was placed next to his wife, the long-dead Queen Miranda. The head of the Holy Church spoke the Last Rites over him as he was sealed into his casket.

Cassandra, Princess Royal, stood outside the oak doors of the Mausoleum, facing the enormous crowd of fellow mourners. Sir Horace, Rangers Crowley, Halt and Will, and Lady Alyss stood close beside and behind her, offering the unspoken support of friendship and loyalty. Among the honored mourners were the Baroness and her daughter, Baron Arald and Lady Sandra, Lady Pauline, various Battlemasters including Battlemaster Rodney, and several foreign men and women sent to act in their leaders stead. Standing in for Erak was an unfamiliar young Skandian named Wulf, who had acted with surprising solemnity throughout his stay, considering the fact that deaths in Skandia were marked with a week long drinking binge. King Sean had sent a letter full to the brim with sincere, heartfelt condolences with his sister-in-law, a sweet young lady with a lilting accent and a talent at cooking hearty breakfasts. By the end of the week, Will was quite sure that a way of mourning in Hibernia was copious amounts of bacon, eggs, sausage and toast. When he asked Halt about his theory, the older man nearly choked to death on his bacon.

"Maybe in a way," he chuckled, a sparkle of mirth in his eye that was understandably rare in that week. "Good food makes you stronger, and strength makes it easier to carry the grief."

Will thought about that assessment as he stood behind Cassandra and next to Alyss. The latter was crying silently, tears streaming down her cheeks as her hand held Will's tightly. The former stood straight and dignified, her eyes dry but still red.

"Araluen has lost a great man," she said. "A great, kind, fair king has been lost to treachery and violence. While I can only pray that I can stand in his stead with his strength, justice and mercy, I know that the one who did this will stand and face retribution for his crime against Araluen and her people." She bowed her head, and she, along with the other Araluen honored mourners, began to chant the Final Prayer.

_"The measure of a man_

_Stands or falls by what he leaves behind_

_Gather on hallowed ground_

_Let your voices carry to the sky_

_Rise in light_

_Let the Lord look down on this and wonder."_

()()()

The guests at the wake in the castle spoke in low tones over the food, even Wulf. Will looked about the room for Morgon, and, failing to find him, sighed. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to see Halt smiling sadly at him.

"He'll turn up," was all the older man said, but it was enough. Will returned to subdued smile and placed his hand over Halt's.

"It just hasn't really sunk in yet," Will said. "That King Duncan's gone. It was just so sudden. It hasn't…"

"I know," Halt replied gently. "I understand. It's going to take awhile, but Cassandra will be a great queen. And saying 'Queen's Ranger' won't take too long to get used to." Will made a rather sorry attempt at a laugh and got back to worrying about his apprentice. He offered token protest when Halt dragged him over to Crowley and Cassandra, but really appreciated the distraction of conversation, however empty the conversation really was.

"Your Highness. Rangers." Lady Sheridan, Baroness Helena's daughter, nodded to them as she approached, offering even more distraction. "I hope your side of the investigation is going better than ours?" She spoke Crowley, who sighed.

"It'd go better if your mother would let us speak with the assassin," he replied. Lady Sheridan shrugged helplessly. The woman was about Will's age, perhaps slightly older. She clearly took after her father. She had none of the delicacy or regal grace of her mother. Her face was attractive, but in an oddly masculine fashion, with a square jaw and a long, straight nose. Her cheeks were smattered with sun-induced freckles, and her eyes were clear, honest, and bright green. Her ginger hair is tied back in a simple tail and held back by a leather thong, and she wore the utilitarian armor of the guardsman, rather than the ornamental formal dress that the Baroness had attempted to have the guards wear. Will felt a surge of respect for her, and the way she stood and spoke with the reminded him of a knight. Humble, ready, and well-trained.

"I'd let you if I could, Ranger," she said. "But my mother refuses to let me speak with him as well. She says we all have other duties."

"Is that so?" Halt asked coldly. Sheridan glanced at him awkwardly.

"I think she means that she has that front covered," she assured him. Halt didn't appear convinced. "My mother can be trusted, Halt," she said firmly. The Ranger's expression didn't change. "I'm sure she has her reasons-"

"Reasons for what, my dear?" The group nearly jumped out of their skins, and the Rangers cursed their distraction, as the Baroness seemed to appear out of nowhere. Will's internal alarm went off as the presence of two unhappy looking Knights registered to him and his fellows. Cassandra's shock was gone in an instant, and she nodded to the noblewoman.

"Baroness Helena. We were just discussing the investigation into the identity of the assassin's employer. Is there any chance you could give us some news?"

"Of course, Your Highness." Helena's voice was quiet and weirdly syrupy. "It just so happens that the assassin's will broke under torture during the funeral procession, which was why I have been away these past few hours." The Rangers all glanced at each other; not one of them had noticed her absence. "We have the name of the fiend's employer."

"Oh?" Cassandra replied, slightly breathless. "Excellent. Who?" Helena smiled sadly.

"Princess Cassandra, I'm afraid you're under arrest for the assassination of your father, the late King Duncan; treason of the highest degree."

The guests went silent and still. Cassandra stared at her accuser for several painfully long moments, the smile slowly dying on her lips, replaced with a look of carefully controlled outrage and fear.

"He's named me as his employer?" She asked quietly. Helena nodded.

"Yes. You are aware of your rights?"

"This is insane." Sheridan said in a strangled whisper. "Cassandra? Hire a Genovesan to kill her father? That's outrageous!"

"You will come with us to the Tower," the Baroness continued, ignoring the protests that were beginning to rise up from the guests. "There, you shall be held until your trial."

"Helena!" Baron Arald came up, horrified. "Surely the assassin is lying. Anyone here can tell you the princess and the king had no ill will. They loved each other! This is madness."

"Those under torture do not lie, Baron Arald." Helena said simply. This brought out a note of near-hysterical laughter from Will, who'd had enough.

"Men don't lie under torture? Oh, that's a new one," he said sardonically. "Hear that, Halt? Tortured men don't lie. Learn something new every day."

"Will, it's quite alright." Cassandra said, her tone as cold and tense as her expression. "It shouldn't take long for this to all get cleared up." Helena bowed her head, politely skeptical. The two Knights walked forward awkwardly and made to take the princess's arms, but she stood a little straighter. "I can walk quite well on my own, thank you." The Knights looked thoroughly abashed, and the four walked out of the hall, leaving a stunned room in their wake. Will stared after them until he felt a small tap on his shoulder. Turning, he met the startled, confused gaze of his apprentice, Morgon.

"What in blazes was that about?"

()()()

"It's insane." Will said shortly, pacing the room that he, Sheridan, and Halt occupied. "It's completely unbelievable."

"Crowley's talking with Helena right now," Halt said distractedly. "He'll straighten this out."

"How can that idiot even- 'Tortured men don't lie?' That idiot is a high ranking law enforcement official!" The man threw his hands in the air with a cry of rage. "I just- I don't even! I just don't even!" He glanced at Sheridan. "Sorry…" She shrugged, too distracted to care about his rants.

"It doesn't take much for a noble to rise in the ranks of government offices." Halt admitted. "It should, but it doesn't. All it takes is a flair for trussing up your own successes. Or making the successes of others look like your own." Will made a sound of disgust.

"I agree." Sheridan said, speaking up for the first time. "But I can promise you this. No one is going to let my mother get away with this." Before Will could reply, the door burst open, and Crowley stalked in, white with rage and muttering various obscenities concerning Helena, Helena's mother, and Helena's legitimacy. Will and Halt glanced at Sheridan, but if she'd ever cared about what people said about her mother, that time was long past. She simply crossed her arms and waited.

"She refuses to allow a Ranger to speak with the assassin," he announced. "She says that the testimony has already been extracted and there's no reason to provide the man with an opportunity to sow confusion."

"Do we have the paperwork?" Halt asked, after the horror-soaked beat of silence that followed Crowley's statement.

"Yes. But what good is it?" Crowley slapped the file onto the table. "I don't trust Helena; she could have put anything in there. I don't think she plans on trying to find any evidence to back up the princess. She assumes she's the one who hired the man and is ready to kill the last of the royal bloodline!" With it out in the open, the air in the room went cold, and Halt's heart stuttered in his chest. Cassandra was going to be executed if they didn't do something. If they didn't speak up…

Halt blinked, realizing at the man who should have been the most vocal was the one who had yet to say anything. Turning, he blinked, and felt a strange yet familiar surge of pride, irritation, and respect for his former apprentice.

Will Treaty was gone.

()()()

Will crept silently down the halls and staircases of the Tower, the jail for the most infamous or high ranking prisoners. He'd told the guard at the front gate that he was going to speak with the princess, and that was true. After he wrung the truth out of the assassin, he would go straight to the princess with the news.

He'd never been in the torture chambers of the Tower before. While he had used torture before, it was only once, and he'd hated it. He made a point to steer clear of the Tower and its notorious basement until then, and he hoped that his voluntary descent yielded results. The screams that echoed through the dark, dingy halls were going to give him nightmares for quite some time.

The cell that the assassin was being kept in was common knowledge, as the three successful assassins of Araluen history had been kept in the cell 313. It employed a certain superstitious air, the same was that the Rangers employed the average villagers belief that they were magic users, to keep people away. Thirteen was, after all, a very unlucky number.

Will turned the corner to Cell 313 and stopped dead in his tracks. He slumped and held his head in his hands with a sigh. In Norgate maybe. Seacliff. Greenfield even. But the Tower? The prison filled with the deadliest criminals in Araluen?

The guard outside of Cell 313 was asleep. And not just dozing either. He was snoring softly, his breathing rhythmic and slow. Will shook his head in disgust, stalked forward, and took the ring of keys from the guard's belt.

The door opened smoothly and silently, again arousing a bit of irritation and scorn from Will. Rust-covered hinges would not only employ the same dose of terrifying atmosphere as the rest of his surrounding, it would have also woken up the dubious guard. While, as a man sneaking into the cell, he was glad for the sloppiness, as a Ranger and countryman, he was grievously disappointed.

Leaving the door slightly open, Will turned and faced the assassin, and froze.

Will wasn't entirely certain what he'd been expecting, but a young man, a boy really, with skin the color of milky coffee, thick dark hair, and no shirt. The boy didn't seem all that dangerous; not in the condition he was in now at least. He was hanging by his arms, which were tied behind his back, several feet off the ground, and his pain was such that he didn't notice Will come in.

Despite it all, Will's heart cried out at the torture, and he found the lever and let the boy down. The assassin fell to his knees with a cry, and Will shushed him. The boy looked up, and a slow grin came on his face.

"I don't suppose you're here to spirit me away?" His Araluen was fluent, if heavily accented. Will frowned.

"No. I'm here to ask you some questions." He grimaced at the flicker of fear in the boy's eyes. "I'm not going to torture you."

"Good." The assassin said shortly. "I've told you what you and yours wish to know. I've told you who hired me."

"I don't believe you." Will snapped. "The princess wouldn't hire an assassin to kill her own father. The fact that you said she was the one just proves you don't know her."

"And you do?" The assassin countered.

"Yes, as a matter of fact," the older man said archly. "She and I are friends. Have been for years." The boy frowned, troubled, clearly reading the truth in Will's words. "What's your name?"

"Leonardo. You may call me Leo, if you wish." The boy sounded tired, which didn't surprise Will at all.

"Leo then. Tell me who really hired you to kill King Duncan." Leo looked at Will closely, his dark eyes calculating.

"What shall I receive in return?" He asked. Will shrugged.

"What do you want?" A stupid question. He already knew the answer, and he wasn't surprised when Leo said shortly, "Freedom. My life in exchange for the hypothetical truth."

"I can't do that." Will protested. Leo turned his head away.

"Then lift me by my shoulders and leave, for I have said what I meant." Will snarled a curse and stomped his foot, inadvertently amusing the boy in front of him.

"You must think I'm royally stupid," the older man snapped. Leo grinned.

"I think," he said. "That if we were in a fight, you'd be royally tough to kill. And that you're very attractive." Will stared at him, nonplussed. "Not that you'd respond to simple flattery, but the color scheme really works with your skin tone."

"Please stop talking." Will said, disgusted. "You killed my monarch."

"Yes. I did." Leo said. "And I've stated that your princess hired me. Now, as far as I know, I'll die tomorrow at dawn, and none will know the hypothetical truth, yes? Yes. But for the simple promise of freedom on your part, the hypothetical truth will be yours to do with what you will."

Will scowled again, and Leo tutted.

"You'll get wrinkles if you don't stop frowning," he chided. Will ignored him. On the one hand, the boy was an assassin, and the one who ruthlessly killed King Duncan. On the other hand, there was a real possibility of not only freeing Cassandra, but also truly avenging Duncan's death if Will simply released Leonardo.

There would still be the very real consequences of the action. Even Rangers didn't really break the law. They just found creative ways around it. But then, Will reasoned glumly, criminals get off all the time on deals. Freedom for information.

"In addition," Leo said, with the air of someone who was thoroughly desperate. "I'll be at your beck and call for a favor. I'll owe you."

"What on earth do you think I'll need an assassin for?" Will asked incredulously. Leo glanced around the dungeon with ill-disguised cunning.

"How ironic it would be, if the man or woman who hired me to kill Duncan died the same way as your own dear monarch," he said slyly. Will raised an eyebrow, more intrigued than he'd care to admit.

"Fine," he said heavily. "Tell me who really hired you, and I'll untie you. But I'm not helping you get out of the Tower. You're on your own there." Leonardo beamed and wigged his fingers, as if itching for the blood to return to their tips.

"You won't regret it, _amici mio_. You have my solemn word," he said, in an entirely too happy tone of voice.

"Just tell me who hired you," the Ranger snapped. Leonardo cleared his throat.

"Well. It was a woman of rather unremarkable height and build; very blonde hair, very thin and graceful, though on the older side. She sent a man to Tuscano to bring me to Araluen, and I met her in a rather seedy little inn. I never got her name, though she was thoroughly out of place there. Funny thing though," he continued when he saw Will's slow look of realization. "The same woman who hired me was the one who tortured me. Came in and told me exactly who to blame and how much torture I was going to take before I blurted it out."

Will stared at the boy. "The woman who tortured you?" He asked quietly.

"The very same."

Will snarled a curse as the pieces fell into place and scraps of Araluen history rose up to fill in the gaps. "The Baroness?"

Leo shrugged, then looked up sharply towards the door, and just as Will whirled to see what the boy had seen, the door to the cell slammed shut.


End file.
